“I’ll take a piece to go,” Kevanne said.
“I’ll box your slice and have it waiting for you at the front.”
“None for me.” Cam swallowed the last hamburger morsel. A few stray French fries remained on his plate.
Millie placed their bills on the counter and looked at Cam. “You can pay at the register when you’re ready.”
Apparently he was ready because he leaped up, downed the entire glass of water, and then grabbed his check. His wrist was splotched with paint now.
“Uh, nice meeting you,” he said and raced to the register. Millie’s sole waitress—the diner was so tiny Millie only needed one—happened to be at the front. She rang him up as he fidgeted. Then he fished in his pockets and extracted a handful of brand-new crisp bills. She gave him back about three-quarters of it along with some change, and then he literally ran out the door.
Kevanne’s jaw dropped. “He stiffed you on the tip.”
“Ah well, he was pretty to look at. Reminds me of a rugged cowboy. If I was forty years younger…” Her raucous guffaw drew the glance of a couple of diners. “You two seemed to be gettin’ along.” She winked.
“I’m not interested. Besides, he’s passing through.”
Millie sighed. “The cute ones always are.”
Kevanne chuckled. “He must be European or something.” Tipping customs in Europe differed from the United States. Gratuities were optional and/or included in the bill. The way he’d shoved a wad of cash at the waitress suggested he was unfamiliar with U.S. money. He probably didn’t realize he needed to leave a tip. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of jerk who’d stiff his server.
Then again, what people seemed like when you first met them often wasn’t who they were.
Millie emptied his coffee cup into a sink then stowed Cam Leon’s dirty dishes in the bin under the counter. Her brows drew together in a squint. “He remind you of anybody?”
“Yes! But I couldn’t place him.” If Millie recognized him from somewhere, then he couldn’t be somebody she’d met through Dayton. “Who does he remind you of?”
“I dunno. But somebody. Maybe an actor. Maybe we had a famous celebrity pass through. I should have gotten an autographed photo for the wall. Elvis ate here.” She laughed.
“He said his name was Cam Leon—at first I thought he was saying chameleon like the lizard that changes color to match its environment.” She recalled the paint on his hands—which reminded her of the big project awaiting her.
With a sigh, she slid off the stool. “The burger was great as usual. I’d better get going. My roof sprang a leak. Hey—if you hear of anyone who does handyman work—I posted a flyer at the bait shop.”
“I’ll keep my ear to the ground,” Millie promised. “Let me get you that pie.”
Kevanne grabbed her jacket from the hook, paid for her meal and then left a tip to cover her lunch and Cam’s.
There were patches of blue in the sky, but far off to the east dark-gray clouds gathered, ready to thunder. If she didn’t get the roof done today, she might not get another chance for several more days or even a week or two. Spring weather was so temperamental.
Back in her car, she headed out of town. The light was green at the main highway, so she turned right and then checked her rearview mirrors—and nearly crashed into the speed limit sign. She pulled onto the shoulder, put the car in park, and twisted around to gawk at the billboard.
Cam’s Leon’s face stared at her from fourteen feet over the highway. No wonder he’d seemed so familiar!
Chapter Six
Chameleon’s hands and arms had turned blue to the elbows, and he suspected his face was, too. Had he lingered in the eatery ten minutes longer, he would have lost the personification completely.
Checking that no one was around, he dug the solar-powered hover scooter out of the bushes. Thank Xeno technology, the power core could hold a charge for a long time because with this rainy, cloudy climate, the scooter wouldn’t have enough juice to putt. He hopped on and activated the light refractor, which would render the vehicle—and anything on it—virtually invisible. Once hidden, with a sigh of relief, he relaxed into his normal self, letting his spine reform ridges, his tail extend, and his skin revert to its normal blue.
He zipped among the slower Earth automobiles on the main thoroughfare. No one would be able to see the craft or him on it; if they detected anything, the shimmer would be mistaken for a mirage. He zoomed by a white vehicle and recognized Kevanne Girardi inside it. He couldn’t believe it when the woman from the woods had come into the eatery and sat next to him.
She was part of the reason he’d lost control of the personification. Her proximity had flooded his nervous system with sensation. She’d breezed in on a scent of rain and flowers. In the woods, he’d been farther away from her and hadn’t been able to get a good look at her face because it had been half hidden by the hood of her yellow coat. In the eatery, he’d lost himself in big brown eyes, shiny shoulder-length hair a couple of shades darker, and full lips that curved into the most engaging smile. Her husky voice and her rich laugh had done the most to undermine his control, distracting him by sending tendrils of heat straight to his cock.
She’d asked a lot of questions, and he’d carefully fashioned his responses. He’d shared the name ’Topia with her, figuring she would assume it was a locality on Earth and not another planet in a different arm of the galaxy. He should have studied up on geopolitics and come up with an Earth province, but she’d caught him unawares. His accent betrayed him as a foreigner anyway. His universal translator was still updating. The more he listened to and spoke the local tongue, the more he’d understand and the better he’d speak. The ability to read the language would take a while longer.
Kevanne hadn’t been the only distraction though. The barrage of alien sounds, smells, tastes hammered at the concentration he needed to maintain the human form. It was easy to personify a being like himself. He could impersonate another Xeno without any effort at all.
But to squish himself down to a human’s size, realign his spine, eliminate his tail, change his skin color, and mimic subtle differences in jaw shape, ears, and nose required intense focus and discipline. Get the nose a little wrong, the eye shape off, the mouth misaligned, and the face would be totally wrong. He hadn’t expected the man on the highway sign to be so difficult to mimic. He’d chosen him because the billboard had provided a clear, sharp, detailed, full-body image. Mimicking someone on such prominent display wasn’t optimal, but it was safer than imitating a living person from town. The fact Kevanne had asked if they’d met indicated she’d recognized him but hadn’t placed him yet.
He’d gone into Argent because Tigre had asked him to. The Saberian had become the unofficial leader of the group, and he’d tagged Chameleon and Psy for reconnaissance. They had the best chance of blending in. Psy pretty much resembled a human, and Chameleon could mimic one. But the others? Wingman couldn’t hide his wings. Tigre’s pigmented stripes would stand out. Shadow could pass muster for a short period of time, but stress caused evaporation episodes.